


Waiting

by TrashySinner (goodonebarb)



Category: Original Work, Who Needs Fandoms
Genre: Flash Fiction, I Don't Even Know, I just felt like posting it, I really don't know what this is, Original Fiction, Short Story, Why am I putting this on this website?, Writing, depressing?, no one will probably read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 15:26:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17103152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodonebarb/pseuds/TrashySinner
Summary: This is a super original bit of not-even-a-little bit fanfiction. Really it's a bit of a short story. I guess I felt like posting it somewhere because I like it and maybe someone else will enjoy reading it? I don't know. Fun fact originally it was just called '1:40 am thoughts'. So enjoy? I guess?





	Waiting

The light fades as she waits in the room. The sun disappears past the concrete boxes beyond the big boxy windows. The chair is uncomfortable, thin batting on top of cheap plastic, covered by scratchy muddy jewel-tones in a hideously inoffensive geometric pattern. The arms of the chair are unrelenting as they begin to dent her elbows. She glances at the plain black numbers of the clock on the plain white wall. It’s nearing 7. She drums her fingers on the arm rest to try and quell her nerves. It doesn’t help. 

She glances at her silent companions. 

The old man continues watching the muted lone ranger re-runs. His eyes are glazed over. The waiting woman wonders if he is even watching, he hasn’t moved since she got there. The nervous mother has picked up and set down the same five magazines countless times. She flips through the glossy bright pages, skims the articles that she deems interesting; recipes for meatloaf with meat-substitute, ways to detect harmful chemicals in your household, how to make a warm coat from burlap and newspaper, how to be a good hostess etc. The well-dressed middle aged woman has barely moved. When she first came in she attempted to read a newspaper but quickly set it back on the small plastic table. Her brown eyes are watery as they stare down at the gray junk-fiber carpet. 

The sounds of the buzzing fluorescents and air moving through the old ventilation system provide a blank canvas for the soft sounds of upbeat orchestral covers of songs from the 70’s. 

The people in the room flinch when the ominous white door is opened. A man in a stark white lab coat steps out. He is holding a clipboard. His immaculate salt and pepper hair, well pressed clothes and shined shoes give an undeniable sense of wealth. Without looking up from his clipboard the man begins to speak. “Jacek Kowalczyk, you may go home.” The elderly man, Jacek, slowly tears his eyes from the glowing box in the corner. He looks at the doctor with the same glassy look as when he was watching the television. “Pardon?” He is polite. The doctor’s eyes remain trained on his clipboard. “We cannot treat you. You can go home.” Jacek slumps slightly. He nods but doesn’t move. The doctor speaks again, “Harriet Williams, come with me.” The middle aged woman, in an old but well-kept suit, stands with a strong posture. Her dark springy curls were pulled into an elegant ponytail. And soon she disappeared with the doctor behind the door.   

She waits longer. 

The mother has grown more nervous as the slender second hand continues its unending marathon. She has given up on the magazines and has pulled a bit of knitting from her canvas bag. The waiting woman observes the mother as she knits with the gray marled yarn. Difficult as it is to distinguish the fibrous mass it takes a small sock like form. Perhaps baby booties. Socks. Makeshift shoes. Doll clothes. Impossible to be sure. The waiting woman turns her attention again to the uncomfortable chair. She wonders how many others have sat there. Waiting. Uncertain of their fate.

The elderly gentleman stirs worry in the waiting woman’s heart. She had heard that they had begun turning people away, but she hadn’t seen it. She drummed her fingers on the plastic armrest again. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

The waiting woman stared at the clock with an unyielding gaze. She wondered if, with enough concentration, she could stop the hand from moving. Stop time. Have everything cease. The ailment that was currently ravaging her body would halt. If only for a little while. 

What would she do? She contemplated her options. Many on their deathbed wanted to see the wonders of the world, to experience new things. But all she could think of was Minnesota. Not Paris or Rome or Tokyo; Minnesota. 

She was there again. Bare feet dipped in clear cold water. Sitting atop a rocky out cropping. Not a sound but soft waves, birds and the gentle whisperings of the trees, telling tales from springs long before. Just a girl, on the edge of the world. She was a feature of the shore, a part of the large mossy boulders. She was a stone on the pebbled beach--smooth serene and worn down. The stress and wear of life had given her a smooth beautiful exterior. She was no longer a piece of broken rock with rough edges, she was her own being. Independent. Enough. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

The turn of the door handle jolted the waiting woman out of her memories. 

Tick. Tick. 

The same apathetic lab-coated man appeared, clipboard in hand.

Tick.

“Mable Barnes?”

Her heart froze. 

“You may go home. We cannot treat you.”

And time stopped. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know how this makes you feel.


End file.
